


Doppelgänger

by Wicked_Seraph



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Idiots in Love, M/M, Public Sex, Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 07:53:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18069521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wicked_Seraph/pseuds/Wicked_Seraph
Summary: The actress’s resemblance made his blood burn and breath quicken — long black hair, delicate features and a thin figure so much like Yut-Lung’s that a flare of heat erupted in Sing’s stomach. Judging by the peculiar grin on Yut-Lung’s face, their mutual resemblance to the actors on the screen had not escaped his notice."What's the matter, Sing?"[Written for Day 4 of#BF Smut Week, for the prompt "Public". This takes place several years into Garden of Light, so rest assured everyone is an adult.]





	Doppelgänger

Sing always forgot the reason he avoided drinking around Yut-Lung until it was too late.

One beer lead to two, which lead to another, which lead to dumb decisions made with flushed faces and hazy thoughts. The decisions he made were not dangerous so much as inane, and always somehow ended with him making a fool of himself in front of Yut-Lung: drunken mini golf where he finished with a score triple the par, or a trip to the bookstore where Sing sobered up to find his coffee table laden with hardcovers about vintage fashion. Yut-Lung swore he’d purchased them himself, but the impish smile on his face betrayed his attempt at saving Sing’s dignity.

Sing had drunkenly suggested to watch a film at the local dollar theater — a film that had received shoddy reviews and abysmal ticket sales. Yut-Lung wrinkled his nose, as he didn’t share Sing’s love of bad cinema, but agreed nevertheless. Sing offered to pay for the tub of popcorn, but Yut-Lung simply dismissed him with a wave of his hand, slipping a crisp $50 bill to the attendant and telling him to keep the change. 

If Sing were sober, he would have patiently explained that leaving a $40 tip for a soda and popcorn was absurd. But Sing’s limbs were limber and his legs felt like jelly, so he simply smiled blankly while following Yut-Lung to the assigned theater. 

“Where would you like to sit?”

Sing thought for a moment. As expected, the theater was empty, save for a few elderly couples sitting within the first few rows. 

“The back.”

Yut-Lung raised an eyebrow, lips curved in amusement.

“Oh? Why?”

“Theater’s too cold up front.”

_Was that a scowl on Yue’s face?_

_“…_ I see. Can’t have you getting hypothermia. We’ll sit in the back, then.”

The theater was surprisingly clean, and even in the fog of his inebriation Sing could feel his guilt abate slightly at having dragged Yut-Lung here. They settled into two seats near the back, just beneath the alcove of the projection room, and waited for the lights to dim. Yut-Lung fiddled with his phone, ostensibly scrolling through his social media feeds, but the nervous way he twirled and worried the same lock of hair made his nerves apparent.

“Ya feelin’ alright?”

Yut-Lung’s tranquil expression flickered for just a moment. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Sing knew Yut-Lung was dodging the question, but wasn’t sure if the dregs of inebriation were to blame for being unable to figure out the reason.

“You’ve been bouncin’ your leg. Prissy guys like you don’t fidget unless they’re nervous.” 

“I’m neither prissy nor nervous, you’re just a drunk with a loose tongue.”

“You don’t seem to mind too much.”

The joke was past his lips before he realized its implications, and nonchalantly reached to take a large swig of soda to swallow his humiliation. Yut-Lung was quiet, intent on finding the perfect kernel of popcorn from the small bag nestled in his lap.

They were quiet for some time, enough for the lights to dim and the screen to widen as the opening credits of the movie rolled. 

The movie was mind-numbingly dull with wooden actors and a bland score. Sing’s eyelids grew heavy, and his consciousness drifted along the edges of slumber until a high-pitched moan dragged him fully into wakefulness.

Sing’s lids slid open slowly.

On the screen, Yut-Lung was concealed beneath a stranger’s bed sheets, hair fanned over the pillow as he writhed (quite theatrically) in pleasure.

Except, of course, it wasn’t Yut-Lung; he was sitting right next to Sing, glancing over at him for a split second, hands white-knuckled around the armrest. Sing looked back at the screen, transfixed.

The actress’s resemblance made his blood burn and breath quicken — long black hair, delicate features and a thin figure so much like Yut-Lung’s that a flare of heat erupted in Sing’s stomach. The actor positioned above her was largely obscured, but hell if his sturdy build and short hair didn’t remind Sing of himself.

Sing snuck a small glance at Yut-Lung and immediately wished he hadn’t; he’d never seen Yut-Lung blush before, breaking their shared eye contact as though it burned. Judging by the peculiar grin on Yut-Lung’s face, their mutual resemblance to the actors on the screen had not escaped his notice.

Sing forced himself to avoid looking Yut-Lung in the eye, locking his eyes on the actors chirping in feigned pleasure with just enough skin exposed by the sheets to make Sing’s heart race.

This was worse than porn. 

If they’d picked a generic blonde and literally anyone else, Sing could have laughed about it and made crude remarks about their lackluster performance. 

But Sing saw Yut-Lung in the long, silky hair and pale skin, in the cupid bow of lips parted in a gasp and dark eyes sharp enough to shear his self-control into a thousand ribbons fluttering to the ground.

Sing couldn’t look away. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything but quietly fill in the gaps obscured by rumpled bed sheets and a lack of genuine chemistry. 

Yut-Lung would feel so warm beneath him; he could imagine the taste of Yut-Lung’s skin beneath his lips, how he’d tremble as he nibbled on pink nubs on a flat chest. Not-Sing on the screen half-heartedly squeezed the actress’s breasts (covered, of course, but Sing could put two and two together), and Sing let out a low chuckle.

_Amateur. If you want to make him scream, be gentle. Lick and suck until he’s begging for your teeth._

“What’s the matter, Sing?”

Yut-Lung’s voice was barely more than a rumble, more vibration than sound, but he could hear the countless potential implications behind his words. 

“Could ask the same of you. You seem a little worked up,” Sing replied, hating how breathless he sounded. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, spreading the pleasant tingling sensation in his abdomen; he could feel it coalesce in the base of his spine and between his legs.

“… the resemblance is uncanny, don’t you think?”

“Sure is.”

Yut-Lung nibbled his lip, and Sing swore that Yut-Lung’s gaze flickered to his mouth for the briefest of moments. The air between them felt dense; he’d been lost in the similarities playing out on the large screen, but now found himself captivated by the raw hunger in Yut-Lung’s expression. He’d never seen Yut-Lung look this way, but some dark part of him responded to it instinctively, as though it had been waiting.

_Don’t do this. You’re drunk and he’s toying with you._

Sing looked resolutely back at the screen; he could see Yut-Lung’s face twisting uncertainly out of the corner of his eye, and the satisfaction he’d expected to feel was replaced by a twinge of guilt.

They’d spent months dancing around the heavy tension that lingered between them in prolonged silences and eye contact with too much heat. Yut-Lung knew how to dr a w desire out of a man, and it was for this reason that Sing rejected him each time. He didn’t want Yut-Lung to view him as just another person licking his chops and bidding his time, and knew that his suggestive quips were just as much meant in jest as they were legitimate propositions. 

Sing nearly jumped in his seat as a slim finger delicately tapped at his chin, as if to turn his face. Sing obliged and found his face inches from Yut-Lung’s. Yut-Lung was smiling, and there was something soft in his expression, knives exchanged for wool.

Sing gulped, straining against every impulse in his body wanting to claim those lips. 

“Why?” Sing asked simply. It felt cruel, to call his bluff so openly, but he’d never forgive himself for shattering two decades of hard-won trust between them.

“I don’t know why I want this,” he confessed, his voice uncharacteristically shy. Yut-Lung’s cheeks were rosy, as though rouged with wine; his eyes fluttered anxiously towards Sing’s lips as if drawn there against his will.

“You don’t owe me anything, Yue.”

“I… it’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

Yut-Lung blinked, incredulous.

“You really don’t know?”

“Know wha—”

Sing’s words were cut off as Yut-Lung leaned forward and pressed his lips, feather-light, to the corner of Sing’s mouth. Sing’s eyes widened, body paralyzed despite the flood of heat surging to his groin. Yut-Lung looked up, and when he found no resistance from Sing he ventured further, pecking Sing’s lips as though afraid they’d disappear if he lingered too long.

“Yue… you don’t have to do this,” Sing whispered, his voice feeling like molasses caught in his throat. 

“I never kiss out of obligation,” Yut-Lung said simply, lips curving into a smile far gentler than he’d ever seen. “But I also don’t kiss people who are unwilling. We’re alike, in that regard.”

“I’m not un— I—”

A deluge of words filled his mouth, overflowing, competing. Yut-Lung laughed, placing a hand on Sing’s cheek and stroking his bottom lip gently with a curious thumb.

“Is that a yes?”

“Please,” Sing breathed, and Yut-Lung leaned across the armrest to press their lips together once more. 

Time seemed to stutter to a complete stop; the dialogue and music of the movie playing in the background settled into a murky drone; he couldn’t think of anything past Yut-Lung’s lips against his, just as warm and soft and perfect as he’d imagined them to be. None of his dreams and feverish fantasies had done them justice.

He had imagined Yut-Lung to be passive, enticing in a way that encouraged his partner’s aggression, but Yut-Lung in the flesh was desperate, lips colliding with his as if he were a man possessed.

“Oh, Sing,” he said helplessly, sounding almost relieved as he sucked at Sing’s bottom lip, as Sing licked at his own in return, veins ablaze with ten years of pent-up desire. He’d never heard Yut-Lung whimper before; it was an intoxicating sound, but he suspected the other movie patrons wouldn’t be as appreciative as he was.

Sing dipped his tongue into Yut-Lung’s mouth, deepening the kiss. The positioning was awkward, fumbling and kissing from adjacent seats; Yut-Lung lost his patience quickly, and with a speed that seemed inhuman he quickly settled himself on top of Sing’s waist, pushing up the two armrests to allow for more space.

“Yue, what the fuck are you—mmph!”

Yut-Lung silenced him with a messy, open-mouthed kiss that was more tongue than anything else, fingers carding through Sing’s hair and cradling his face. His legs straddled him shamelessly, and Sing gasped when Yut-Lung rocked his hips. Something hot and firm pressed against his stomach, the curve of the other man’s ass sending a million volts of friction against his cock.

Sing moaned quietly into Yut-Lung’s mouth, fingers gripping the other man’s waist tightly enough to bruise. Yut-Lung pressed their bodies closer, chests flush against one another’s, and there was absolutely no way to ignore the damp heat rutting against his stomach; the way Yut-Lung’s ass seemed to stroke his cock with every roll of his hips was absolutely intentional.

This was a terrible idea, he thought, making out and dry-humping each other like hormone-crazed teenagers in the middle of a movie theater. But Yut-Lung felt so goddamn perfect, warm and desperate beneath his hands; Sing couldn’t blame his actions on the cheap beer any more than Yut-Lung could excuse his own.

He’d wanted this far too long to deny himself.

He could feel the pressure building between his legs, kindling to a flame that threatened to engulf him entirely. His hands had dropped to clutch greedily at Yut-Lung’s ass, pulling him closer with every undulation. He could honestly come just like this, kissing Yut-Lung and feeling how hard he was from it, but something greedy gnawed at him. He imagined Yut-Lung’s practiced movements having a more defined purpose and struggled to bite back a moan.

He could feel Yut-Lung’s body heat even through his flimsy clothes, and found himself desperately wishing he could feel his bare skin. He found the waistband of Yut-Lung’s pants, stroking the skin just above it. Yut-Lung gasped loudly; Sing looked behind Yut-Lung and was relieved to find that he was the only one that had heard it.

“Please, Sing, touch me,” Yut-Lung begged, placing Sing’s hands beneath the waistband; Sing had to force himself to remember how to breathe.

_His. His bare ass is right in my hands, holy shit._

“Where?”

“You seem to have the right idea, but…”

At this Yut-Lung became a bit hesitant.

“But what?”

“Too much, too soon. This is fine,” he said, smiling.

“Anything you want. Name it,” Sing stammered, fingers dipping further between the globes of his ass.

Manic impulse.

He stroked the ring of muscle between them curiously; Yut-Lung slammed his mouth against Sing’s to stifle the resultant moan, shuddering so forcefully that Sing wondered if he’d already climaxed.

“That feel good?” Sing whispered; delicious heat, dark and lush, surged through him. Yut-Lung bit his lip to stifle his cries, nodding furiously. Sing switched hands, cupping and parting one cheek with the teasing hand, lifting the other toward his mouth. Yut-Lung’s eyes widened.

“Sing?”

“It’ll hurt if it’s dry, won’t it?”

“… yes, it would.”

“Let me take care of it, then,” he said, bringing the fingers into his own mouth and sucking on them, coating them as thoroughly with spit as he could. 

“Sing, what you doing?”

“Making sure I can make you feel good.”

“I can do it.”

“I know, but let me do this for you.”

A small nod, eyelids fluttering shut; Sing smiled, moistened fingers circling the rim, lips pressed against Yut-Lung’s ear.

“Ready?” 

Sing’s name was uttered as a sigh, hardly more than a breath. Sing pressed in, biting his lip; he hadn’t imagined how hot it would be. He was met with far less resistance than he expected; Yut-Lung’s body seems to beg for the intrusion.

Yut-Lung was oddly still above him.

“You alright?”

“Keep going.”

“Don’t you need mor—?”

“No,” Yut-Lung growled quietly, his teeth grazing Sing’s ear lobe in warning. “Keep going.”

Sing obeyed, adding a second finger (“more, Sing, please”) followed by a third, increasingly unnerved by how easily he can coax the warmth surrounding him into accommodation.

“How…?”

Yut-Lung leaned down, biting Sing’s neck to stifle a groan as he rocked his lips, forcing Sing’s fingers deeper inside him.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, his voice soft and delirious. “You have no idea how many nights I’ve done this and imagined it was you.”

Everything he wanted to say in reply, equal parts veneration and filth, seemed incomplete; his heartbeat was almost painful beneath his ribs, the roar of his racing blood nearly audible. Half-imagined fantasies and guilt-ridden dreams paled in comparison to feeling Yut-Lung’s heat, to hearing him whimper and writhe against him.

_How cruel_ , he thought.  _Of all the times for this to finally happen, it had to be in a the middle of a goddamn movie theater._

“We shouldn’t do this here,” Sing pleaded, even as his cock strained against his pants. 

“I can’t wait any longer, Sing,  _please,"_ Yut-Lung whispered, grasping the waistband of his pants and pulling it down — not enough to remove them, but enough to turn imitation into fruition.

“We’re gonna get caught.”

“Not if you’re very quiet.”

Lips pressed against his own feverishly, another hand reaching to unbutton and unzip Sing’s pants with a dexterity that unnerved him; Sing didn’t like to think about why Yut-Lung was so good at this, couldn’t think about much else except Yut-Lung’s ass rubbing his cock.

“Yue—!”

Sing gasped as he felt Yut-Lung’s fingers wrap around him, stroking him gently enough to distract him, to turn his objections into muffled moans against Yut-Lung’s lips. He could feel the head of his cock press against Yut-Lung’s entrance, as well as the small smirk on full, urgent lips, bruising against his.

_If you want this, you’ll have to make the first move._

Sing complied, pressing into Yue and feeling himself grow dizzy from the pleasure from it.

“Fuck,” he whispered, heart racing as he felt himself swallowed by sinfully tight heat, Yut-Lung’s body shaking above his waist. 

He looked behind Yut-Lung frantically. Both couples in the theater were gazing at the screen, blissfully unaware. 

Something about the secrecy of it, feeling his cock gliding inside of Yue in such a brazen environment, made his blood burn; he had to bite his lips to avoid coming undone on the spot.

“Didn’t know you liked it in public, Yue; didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Shut up and fuck me before they hear you.” Yut-Lung’s voice was a soft snarl devoid of any true malice, too drunk on lust to think of anything beyond sating it. 

“Happy to oblige,” Sing replied with a groan, jerking his hips upward and swallowing the sweet sounds Yut-Lung made in response. 

Yut-Lung’s hips rocked mercilessly against his waist, driving Sing deeper with every thrust; Sing swore he could taste the difference in the small moans against his tongue, unspoken pleas to fuck him harder or hit a certain place that made Yut-Lung tremble in his grasp. He could hear the lewd slickness of their coupling, almost deafening; half-crazed, he wondered if he merely imagined it being so loud. Pleasure boiled in his blood, desperate for release; he could tell from the damp pressure against his stomach that Yut-Lung was quickly reaching his own limits.

“I—should we—finish this later?”

Every cell in his body screamed in protest; he wanted to fill Yut-Lung with his lust, to watch his face twist in pleasure as he came from nothing other that Sing’s cock.

Yut-Lung shook his head furiously, bouncing against Sing wildly; friction sparked against Sing’s arousal, dragging an agonized gasp from his lungs. 

“You keep doing that and I’m not gonna last.” Sing’s words were paper-thin, as though merely speaking about his approaching climax would shatter his restraint. 

“Want you now,” Yut-Lung panted, clenching around Sing’s cock and laughing breathlessly as Sing’s hands gripped his waist like a vice. “Please, please, I’m so cl—gah!”

He thrust his tongue in Sing’s mouth, body rigid and voice muffled; Sing felt warmth pool between Yut-Lung’s legs, prim slacks damp and accusatory.

“Did you…?”

“Yes, and now it’s your turn.”

Small fingers ran along his chest, skimming until they found perk nipples straining against thin cotton. Yut-Lung traced delicate circles around them, licking and sucking Sing’s tongue.

It was too much — Yut-Ling’s fingers teasing him, tongue devouring him, and the slick, overwhelming tightness around his cock. He could feel the desire threading through his veins reach a dangerous crescendo, wave after wave of impulse severing his self-control until something within him broke.

Sing came with a sharp gasp against Yut-Lung’s lips; pleasure ignited along every nerve in his body, almost painful in its intensity. He could do little more than attempt to catch his breath, marveling at the foreign sensation of his own lust cooling around him. Yut-Lung slumped against him, cheek pressed against his shoulder. 

The steady rhythm of Yut-Lung’s heartbeat gently coaxed him back to earth; he could begin to feel his own heartbeat settle, his breaths slower and deeper.

“Holy shit,” Sing sighed. What else  _could_ he say in this situation?

“Hm?”

“That… uh. Wasn’t how I pictured my first time.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

Yut-Lung’s eyes were murky with self-revulsion. He immediately regretted his honesty.

“No, but… I think it’s fitting. Satin sheets and rose petals don’t seem like your thing.”

He could feel the warmth of Yut-Lung’s laughter against his neck; heat stirred in his stomach, but he willed it to settle.

“Is that what you wanted?”

“No,” Sing said, tracing the column of Yut-Lung’s spine, winding sleek black locks through his fingertips. “This just means we have to up the ante next time.”

“… next time?”

“Are you implying this was a one-time fling? Pretty cold, Yue.”

“Not at all,” he said, voice dropping several octaves in a way that made Sing’s blood race. “Just that you have no idea what you’re in for.”


End file.
